


Intelligence Is Like Underwear

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic 2018 [13]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, International Fanworks Day 2018, M/M, Modeling, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic for Fashion prompt:Stargate Atlantis (AU), John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, "Rodney McKay: Underwear Model"In which John is a big fan of the underwear model on the billboard outside his office, but never expects to actually meet him in person.





	Intelligence Is Like Underwear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squidgiepdx (squidgie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/gifts).



_Intelligence is like underwear. It is important that you have it, but not necessary that you show it off._ \-- words Rodney McKay would never utter, especially in this AU 

 

John hated his job. He hated the drudging sameness of it, hated the petty backstabbing as the office drones around him struggled to get from one mindless position to another, and he hated the stale coffee and office gossip and endless paperwork. 

He'd told his father it was only temporary. Had been insistent about finding something more suitable. That had been six months ago, and John was still just as lost as he'd been when he'd parted ways with the Air Force. He didn't know what to do with himself. 

There was only one thing John liked about his job: the view from the window of his tiny office. 

Beeman Square stretched out fifteen stories below. There were theaters, restaurants, nightclubs, shops, and bars. More importantly, there were billboards. Some were electronic, like movie screens, and others were more traditional. It was the latter that faced John's window. 

RealMale Underwear. 

Yeah, the underwear was nice. Boxers and boxer briefs with fun designs on them, a little more high-end than the stuff John usually bought for himself. But it wasn't the boxers, it was the guy who wore them. The underwear model. 

He was always photographed in black and white, with just the underwear in color. Broad shoulders, muscular thighs, a little soft around the middle. He had an interesting mouth that twisted down on one side, and an intense look in his eyes like he was challenging everyone who looked at his billboard. 

John would never admit it, except maybe on pain of death, but he was a little infatuated with that underwear model. 

He remembered the very first billboard, with the black galaxy boxers. And the time the model had his hair sticking up and kind of windblown. The time he glistened with drops of water, like he'd just come out of the shower. Or when he'd been holding a black cat and somehow managed to look incredibly masculine while doing so. 

John had gone out on a couple of dates, now that he didn't have to worry about DADT, but he hadn't met anyone yet who really interested him. Definitely not anyone he wanted to go to bed with. Part of the problem was that he'd lost a measure of confidence after Holland died. He couldn't trust himself like he used to. Most nights he stayed home with a six pack of beer and a head full of fantasies about his underwear model. 

He looked out at the latest billboard, which featured a pair of boxers covered in coffee cups and coffee beans. The model was holding a cup of coffee in his hands, eyes closed as he sniffed appreciatively. The look on his face was positively blissful, and John could easily imagine him... 

A knock on the door startled John and he hastily sat back down at his desk. 

"John. You want to come to lunch with us?" Callie poked her head in his office, big perky smile on her face like always. "We're going to that new Greek place." 

"No, thanks." John never went out with the others. He wasn't interested in talking about the latest episode of _The Bachelor_ or _Fear Factor_ , and he couldn't drum up any enthusiasm for stories about kids or dogs or the latest antics of George W. Bush. 

Callie pouted. "Aw, come on. Just this once? It's Jeffrey's work-iversary." 

John didn't know why he said it, and in fact regretted the words as soon as he heard them leaving his mouth. "I have a lunch date." 

Pouting Callie turned into calculating Callie. John had just handed her a juicy piece of office gossip, which would no doubt have made the rounds by the time lunch was over. 

"Oh. Well...have fun." 

Damn. Now John would have to go out for lunch. Not that it was a hardship to step outside and get some fresh air, but he'd be forced to play into his own lie. Was he really that desperate to avoid interacting with his co-workers? His therapist, the one he'd quit seeing after two visits, would probably have clucked her tongue and said something about avoidance. 

Still, when he took the elevator to the lobby and stepped out the front doors, John relaxed. The sun was shining and the day was warm, and the air smelled like fresh pretzels and boiled hotdogs and gyros from the street vendors. It would’ve been a nice day to eat outside at one of the bistros, but John couldn’t risk his co-workers spotting him eating alone. Getting caught in a lie would be bad, and everyone would probably assume he did it because he couldn’t get a date. He’d be an object of pity, subjected to endless fix-ups. Hard pass. 

John walked in the opposite direction of the Greek place and ended up at a sports bar, which was perfect because the windows were tinted so the patrons couldn’t be seen from the sidewalk. 

There was a decent sized lunch crowd inside, but John was able to find a seat at the bar next to a garishly dressed guy who was having a loud argument with the bartender about lacrosse, of all things. 

“Have you seen some of those guys? It’s a wonder they can round the bases without wheezing. Lacrosse is a much more athletic game. Definitely superior to baseball. Our players are actually fit, for one thing.” 

The bartender just shook his head. “We already got a game with a stick and a ball. There’s no room for lacrosse.” 

John perused the menu, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that the guy next to him had nicely muscular arms. He was waving them around while he talked, and John almost took an elbow to the face. 

“You Americans and your blind devotion to baseball!” The guy turned on his stool and pinned John in place with a glare. “What about you? Baseball or lacrosse?” 

“Football,” John replied. He wondered why the guy looked so familiar and then his mouth twisted down on one side and John was pretty sure he swallowed his own tongue. 

“Football. Of course. Another pointless American sport that takes forever to play. And you all wonder why obesity rates are so high.” 

"Holy shit, it's you," John said before he could stop himself. He couldn't believe it. The underwear model. What were the odds? He could've calculated them if he wasn't so stunned. 

The underwear model narrowed his eyes. “Have we met?” 

"No." John's face heated as he turned back to the menu, reading each item description carefully as if that would distract him from the guy's gaze, which he could feel burning into the side of his head. 

John had heard plenty of stories about people meeting celebrities, or people they admired, and a lot of the time it was disastrous. Meeting the object of lust-filled fantasies was also an iffy proposition, as the guy's next words illustrated. 

He snorted. "The billboard, right? I'm not signing anything, in case you were thinking of asking." 

"I wasn't." 

"And I don't carry around free samples, so don't ask for that either." 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

"Good." 

"Great." John kept staring at the menu. The underwear model looked at him a moment longer and then turned back to continue his argument with the bartender. 

That should've been the end of it. The guy was obviously a jerk, regardless of how ridiculously sexy he was. But they were sitting close enough to occasionally bump knees, and the model smelled of shaving cream and something vaguely fruity, and John was helpless to fight six months of very vivid fantasies. 

"You know what you want?" the bartender asked, jolting John out of his thoughts. 

"Uh..." 

"He wants the avocado burger," the model said, giving John a challenging look. "And sweet potato chips with sweet onion sauce." 

"And a bottle of Yuengling," John added. "Anyone ever tell you you're pushy, pal?" 

"My name is Rodney, not 'pal', and that's the best thing on the menu. You'll thank me." 

"We'll see." 

"Look, maybe I jumped the gun," Rodney said, and it took John a moment to realize he was making some sort of half-assed apology. "When people recognize me they usually want something." 

"I don't want anything," John replied. The bartender handed him the bottle of beer. "Well, except this and some lunch." 

Rodney gave him an intensive once-over that had John's skin flushing hot again. If nothing else, John’s spank bank was going to be overflowing with new material by the time lunch was over. 

"Do you work around here? Your frumpy suit seems to indicate a mindless corporate job." 

"Frumpy?" John's father had supplied him with a working wardrobe, all tailored to fit because Sheppards, even the struggling ones, always had to look their best. "Bold criticism from someone who looks like he got dressed in the dark this morning." 

Rodney looked down at himself, as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing. Hard to miss, as far as John was concerned, what with the neon green long-sleeved shirt and electric blue short-sleeved button-down he had over it. If the intent was to bring attention to himself, he'd achieved it. 

"I would've thought a model would dress better." 

"Oh, please. You think that's my actual job? I do the modeling as a favor for a friend." Rodney grabbed some pretzels out of the bowl on the bar. "I'll have you know I'm a genius, literal not hypothetical. You know all those innovations that Pelantis Tech comes up with? That's all me. Well...mostly me." 

He stuffed some pretzels in his mouth and washed them down with whatever drink he had in his glass. 

Pelantis Tech was Sheppard Industries' biggest competitor in electronics, data management, and green initiatives. 

“My IQ is in the mid-160s, and I make obscene amounts of money,” Rodney continued. “So it really doesn’t matter what I wear, does it?” 

“I guess not. You can be a pompous ass in any outfit.” 

To John's surprise Rodney laughed. 

"You have no interest in trying to impress me, do you?" 

"I really don’t," John confirmed. "I would suggest using some of your obscene amounts of money to buy some new clothes, though. Unless being seen from space was the look you were going for." 

The bartender set his lunch in front of him and he turned his attention to it. It really did look good, and when John tried the sweet onion sauce he was pleasantly surprised. He started to eat, but he could feel Rodney staring at him. 

He was two bites in when Rodney said, “What's your name?” 

"John." 

Rodney plucked a chip off his plate. "You ever think of modeling?" 

John almost choked on his hamburger. "If that's a come-on, it's the worst one I've ever heard." 

"I'm serious. My friend is always on the lookout for new talent. You're a little on the skinny side, but the point of RealMale is to represent real body types." 

"No thanks," John said. "I don't make underwear look as sexy as you do." 

"But she really...wait. You think I'm sexy?" 

It was Rodney's turn to blush, which was incredibly endearing. A guy who had his mostly-naked image blown up on giant billboards didn't seem like the shy type. Or maybe he wasn't aware of just how good looking he was, which seemed improbable. 

"Isn't that the point? To be sexy?" 

"No. The point is selling underwear." Rodney stole another chip. "And what do you do?" 

"I work in the accounting office at Hudsecker Securities." It was one of the many offshoots of Sheppard Industries, chosen because no-one would connect John to the main holding company. No special favors for Patrick Sheppard's oldest son. 

"Ha! I was right, pegging you as an office drone. I could tell by the dead look in your eyes." 

"Hey!" John had to fight to keep from laughing. Rodney didn't have much of a verbal filter, but instead of being offended John thought it was kind of amusing. "I'm no drone." 

"So, what? You're a CPA or something?" Rodney shook his head. "What a waste." 

"I have Master's in Combinatorics, actually." John didn't expect Rodney to know what that was, but the genius thing must've been accurate because the man brightened up considerably. 

"Combinatorics? What the hell are you doing working for Hudsecker? You're being wasted there!" 

John shrugged and took another bite of his burger. 

"Are you a recovering addict or a convicted felon or something? Why the hell are you working there? More importantly, why aren't you going for your doctorate?" 

"That's a pretty intrusive question." 

"Which one?" 

John rolled his eyes. "I'm not an addict or an ex-con. I was in the Air Force, and now I'm not. And I need to work." 

"Hmm." Rodney rubbed a hand over his chin. "What you really need is direction." 

"And I'm going to find that modeling underwear?" 

"Don't be an idiot. We could use someone with your background at Pelantis. I can get you an interview with the CEO." 

John gaped at him. "Do you regularly offer employment to complete strangers?" 

"No." Rodney leaned forward, elbow on the bar. "I'll be straight with you, John. Well, maybe straight isn't the right word. You're a good-looking guy, but I find intelligence a much more appealing trait. And a guy with a degree in Combinatorics should be using his intelligence in a way that benefits the world at large and not a bunch of stuffed shirts who haven't done an honest day's work in their lives." 

He was serious. John put his burger down and took another pull of his beer, just to give himself time to think. The sexy underwear model was offering him a chance at a job, and not just any job but one at a company in direct competition with his father. For the first time in a long time John felt that old fire kindle inside him. 

"And what makes you think the CEO would be at all interested in hiring me?" 

"Because she's my sister and she doesn't like it when I get cranky." 

"Your sister owns Pelantis?" For an underwear model, Rodney's life had a lot of layers. 

"We both own it, but she's the public face. For obvious reasons. Besides, I like being hands-on in the labs." 

John suddenly pictured Rodney wearing a white lab coat with just a pair of boxers on underneath and shifted in his seat. 

"I'm a terrible judge of character, but Jeannie's pretty good at the HR stuff. She'll be able to tell if you're some kind of sociopath. But I have a good feeling about you and I can't be wrong all the time, right?" 

"There's a heartfelt endorsement." 

"I could probably throw in some free underwear." 

John huffed out a laugh. "Well, how could I possibly refuse that offer?" 

"Good. Clear your calendar." Rodney pulled out a cell phone and started tapping away at it. "I'll make sure Jeannie gets you in as soon as possible. And then we can talk about the modeling thing." 

"Don't push your luck," John said. "There's no way you're getting me to model underwear." 

**One Year Later**

"This is amazing!" Mel ran a hand across her new desk. She was finally out of the cubicle maze, finally had an office of her own. It had a door! And a window! It wasn't super big, but it was a start. One day she'd be in the corner office on the twenty-third floor, she just knew it. 

Mel walked over to the window to check out her view. Beeman Square was bustling with people on their lunch breaks, and tourists taking pictures, but all she could see was the big electronic billboard mounted on the Nagi-Cohn building directly across the street. 

Not just any billboard, either. _The_ billboard, the one that still had social media buzzing even though the news cycle had moved on. 

RealMale Underwear. They had provocative ads all over town, and all over the web. Real men with real body types modeling upscale underwear. But the new billboard had generated a lot of controversy – unwarranted, in Mel's opinion – and had conservatives everywhere in a swirl. 

Instead of just one model, the electronic billboard had two. The way they looked at each other, with so much love on their faces, had made Mel and her friends dream of the same for themselves. Of course, it was the kiss that had some people up in arms. Just a chaste press of lips, no tongue or grinding or anything like that. It was really sweet and beautiful, and so far no-one had been able to make RealMale remove the ad. 

Mel's friend Ricky said their underwear sales had gone through the roof since the new ad had appeared. Mel could believe it. 

Thank goodness her desk faced the door; she'd never get anything done if she had to look at Spiky Hair and Shoulders smooching each other on a loop all day long. 

There was a knock on Mel's brand new door and one of the girls – she didn't know everyone's names yet – poked her head in. 

"Hey, new girl. You want to come to lunch with us?" 

"Really? That would be great!" 

"Meet us by the elevators in five." 

Mel took one last look at the billboard before she grabbed her purse and left.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** What better way to celebrate IFD than with John fanboying over a mostly-naked Rodney? ::grins::: Thank you so much to Squidgie for the great prompt, which I knew I wanted as soon as I saw it. I just wish I could art if just to recreate that billboard. LOL!


End file.
